My Foster Son Never Spoke a Single Word – Until the Judge Asked Him One Question

It was only the second time I’d ever heard him speak. But the way he said it — calm, certain — told me he was done hiding.

That night, I made his favorite dinner. He didn’t say much at the table, but he sat close and cleared his plate.

At bedtime, I reached for the old book I’d been reading to him for years, the one still unfinished.

Alan was 14, and he’d still let me read to him… that was something I’d treasured more than I could explain.

But before I could open it, he touched my hand.

“Can I read it tonight?” he asked.

I handed it over slowly, careful not to cry again.

He opened it with both hands, turned the page like it was sacred, and began to read, taking us into the world of fantasy.

At the end of the day, I didn’t need to hear the words “I love you.” I just needed to know I’d built a home someone wanted to keep returning to.

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